Tales from the Swamp
by GarGoyl
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is a young man plagued by anxiety and nightmares, cheated by his boyfriend and betrayed by his best friend. But when a cruel joke is played on him, things will take an unexpectedly sinister turn. Warnings: mentions of gore and character death. Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

A/N – So… this happened, people. Instead of updating my other four stories which are currently on (a hopefully soon to be over) hiatus, I decided to adapt this old thing (another original fic of mine), because autumn has come, my vacation is gone – I'm back to work and I was in need for some good horror story. And USUK fits in – always does with this creepy stuff, for some reason… So have fun!

There will be some minor OCs in this story, but only for plot's sake, so don't despair just yet ;) And yeah, it's an incredibly weird crap, I am aware of it.

* * *

_The swamp seemed an endless space of mystery in the approaching sunset. The particular scent of water plants filled the air. One could feel it was there. The magic. Something old as the world and yet young as the youth itself, Aunt Elaine had said. How he should know, even if he was only six years old. His small hand in the soft squeeze of her palm as they walked along the narrow path among the huge tree roots. The water, sparkling wickedly from among leaves of all shapes and sizes, muddy-green, bottomless. It called him with an unheard whisper. His whole body went numb and suddenly felt feather light. He let himself fall and the water swallowed him in a cool embrace. He kept his eyes wide open, mesmerized by the sunrays breaking through the underwater leaves. Here under, all sounds were faint, coming from another world, so distant it felt unreal. It was all so plainly wonderful. Just then he was pulled back and the next thing he felt was the ground, so hard under his head and tears came to his eyes. Aunt Elaine watched him in silence and slowly reached down to caress his cheek._

Alfred woke up with a start in the profuse darkness of his room. His body gradually beginning to relax while still panting lightly, he reached for the cell phone on his nightstand and quickly checked it. No call, no message from him. Nothing.

_He doesn't care about me! He does not care if I'm alive or dead! _The thoughts were spinning in the blond's head in an endless whirlpool as his hand searched blindly inside the top drawer for the sleeping pills. He told himself that at least he should have gotten some more rest before the night was over, but _damn, the bottle was empty!_

He lay back on the pillows, wiping the cold beads of sweat off his brow. In moments like this, Matthew seemed so far away from him, out of reach, almost unreal. So Alfred had taken the habit of always replaying everything in his mind - the night they had met at Francis's party, their first date, his childish smile, his soft lips whispering the first 'I love you'. He remained lost in thought for a while, then picked up his cell phone and hurriedly dialed Francis's number.

"Hello?" he heard his old friend mumbling, as woken from sleep.

"Hey man, it's Alfred…"

"Hey… what's up _mon ami_, why do you call me at this hour, anything wrong? Are you alright?"

"Man… I'm not okay. I… um… have no more pills, man. And I need them, if I wanna get some sleep, I… I don't feel so well," Alfred confessed, nervously swallowing as he spoke. This wasn't good – the dreams, the pills, it was all fucked up and he knew it, he should have… well…

"Anxious again, aren't you?" came the Frenchman's drowsy voice from the other end of the line.

"Yeah, kinda… Anyway, I was wondering if you could help me up with this… after all you're a doctor, if you gave me a new prescription… I really need'em." The blond scrubbed his free hand over his face - it was useless, Francis wasn't going to bring him any damned pills in the middle of the night, nor was he going to promise a new prescription without having things looked at first. How troublesome, and all he wanted was a bit of sleep, a bit of peace.

"I don't know, _mon ami_… let's just talk first, alright? Tell me about it…"

Alfred wanted to speak but felt his thoughts fade away. He made an effort to let it out nevertheless, because he knew Francis would insist until he did. "It's Mattie. Um… he… I don't know anymore. He left to see some relatives and I haven't heard from him in three days now."

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"I just… I don't know. He kinda does that to me… I mean he's done it before. Ignoring me and stuff… And I think, no, I don't think, I fear. It's like something has come between us lately, but I can't quite put my finger on it." _I fear that he doesn't love me anymore. _But he was strangely afraid that it would _be_ true if he said it out loud.

"I see… well what can I say, maybe you should think how you feel too, Alfred. Maybe there's nothing there anymore, you know what I'm saying?" Francis replied in a low voice and there was something odd about the way he said it, like a bizarre coldness, a sense of _definitive_ which only stirred his friend's despair further.

"But man, I love him. If there's one thing I know for sure about this, this is the thing. I do love him. I need him, man!"

"I understand, _mon ami_," the Frenchman soothed. "But just... if he doesn't feel the same about you, don't obsess. Just see how it goes for a while, what happens next and if things don't change for the better, then… just end this whole thing. It's for your own good," Francis hurried to say, then added "I will bring your pills tomorrow morning. Just try to relax for now. Clear your mind of all thoughts and try to sleep, alright? See you in the morning."

"Ok, thanks a lot, man. See you." Alfred laid the cell phone back on the nightstand and let his head fall onto the pillow once more. A heavy burden was on his heart, pressing hard, and he could not push it away. Soon he gave in to a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Francis hung up and rolled over between the sheets, trying to fight back his annoyance. Alfred just wouldn't give up on him. He loved him, good one! He needed him! He who was loved by everyone around him. But he needed him, Matthew, from all the boys in this world. Sure thing, Matthew knew a thing of two about how to make himself needed, as soon as he found what he was looking for.

_In a way the two of them are so much alike, they always want more and more and can't really get enough: Alfred can't get enough love and Mattie can't get enough money._ But Mattie was his. He had been his from the beginning, even if he'd made Francis swear this would be a secret for all times. _He_ loved him, he alone. _He_ had accepted all his absurd terms, everything.

"Who was on the phone at this hour?" the young Canadian asked as he came back from the bathroom and sneaked back in bed next to him.

"Take a wild guess who it was," Francis mumbled, turning his back on the smaller blond. "He's worried about you, because you didn't call or something… He needs some fucking sleeping pills because of that. Because he can't sleep and he needs you and because he's just such a fucking princess!"

"Babe, you're not angry with me now, are you?" Matthew said gently, a hand resting lightly on the other's shoulder. "It's really not my fault he's like that… difficult I mean. And you know I don't care about him," he added, nuzzling his nose into the back of the Frenchman's neck.

"But you do care about his money! That you _do_ care about. Otherwise you would have dumped him by now," Francis replied sharply.

"You know what? I'm sick and tired of this subject!" the smaller blond snapped back, getting out of bed."I really don't know for how long I'll be able to put up with all your jealousy and all this shit! What if I want his money? What's wrong with his money? Did you forget all the 'loans' you got from me and never returned? Did you, Francis?" he yelled getting dressed in a hurry.

"No, no, baby, listen to me! All I'm saying is…" the Frenchman began, but his lover left the room without a glance back and a moment later he heard him forcefully slamming the front door.

* * *

It was almost 3 A.M. when Matthew got back to his boyfriend's place. He dropped his keys on the small table in the hallway and listened carefully. No sound, the place was sunken in darkness. He sneaked into the bedroom and stooped over Alfred's sleeping form, unable to help noticing that even in his sleep his face had a sad expression. Well, he had really pushed it this time, and all because of Francis and his temper. Now he had to find a way to fix things, and fast.

He gently placed his lips onto the other blond's and caressed his hair, but that light touch was all it took for Alfred to wake up with a start and blink in confusion while his boyfriend hurried to switch on the lamp near the bed.

"Baby, I'm back! I missed you so much! Did you miss me?" he whispered embracing him. The American sat up rubbing his forehead and looked straight into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but all he saw was his smile. He felt dizzy.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I tried to call you, but your cell phone was switched off and… What happened?"

"Oh, I'm sorry babe, there was a problem with the network in the area. I couldn't find a phone… That's why I got back earlier. I just felt I couldn't stay any minute longer away from you!" Matthew put his arms around his neck again and gave him a deep kiss, while the taller blond held him tight to his chest, almost finding it hard to believe that he was back, their hearts beating so close to each other.

Later on, Alfred fell asleep with him in his arms and dreamland claimed him once more.

* * *

_Aunt Elaine's living-room, her deaf cat in the rocking chair. Shiny particles of dust floating in the last sunrays. She never did much cleaning, his mom used to say._

"_Here sweetie, take a cookie with your tea." _

_Aunt Elaine laid a red tin box in front of him and Alfred stared sleepily at his own reflection in the polished lid. It was always so quiet in here, the silence absorbed all sounds._

"_Aunt Elaine, why did Uncle Joe leave? I miss him…"_

"_I sort of miss him too, but I guess this just wasn't his place to be. And I was not the one for him."_

"_What do you mean 'the one', Aunt Elaine?"_

_The auburn-haired woman sat down next to him and embraced him gently while he laid his head on her shoulder._

"_Alfred, there's something you should know, sweetie…Some things are meant to be, they are meant for us, and some aren't. So is the one. The one to share a piece of eternity with. In your heart you always know…"_

_Was she crying? He slowly pulled away from her arms. It was so odd to be a child again…_

"_Aunt Elaine, will I ever find the one? Will I?"_

"_For you it may be a bit difficult," she smiled kindly, "You're very special."_

"_That can't be good…" he said trying to smile back. Maybe he'd heard that too much, too often. "Is Mattie the one?" _

"_Oh my dear boy…"laughed Aunt Elaine, "all I'm saying is that not anyone can be __the one__. The one is always…um… how should I say?"_

"_Magical?"_

"_Oh dear God, not necessarily, but they should be as special as you. Or maybe you would like a witch?"_

"_And why wouldn't it be a fairy?"_

"_Because fairies do not exist, child."_

Alfred woke up even more tired than he had been the night before. It was very early in the morning and a crude white light was breaking through the open window, hurting his eyes. He turned his head on the pillow to see Mattie asleep next to him, his features seemingly more distant and unreadable than ever. Suddenly, an odd sensation took over him - an icy cold shudder ran all over his skin for a few seconds, leaving him trembling. He remembered he had felt this before, in those days which seemed long forgotten. _The creep_, they called it. He pulled the covers around his body, trying to get warm and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Francis was determined to use the weekend out of town to leave all his thoughts and troubles behind and relax for a bit, even though he knew that it was unlikely. The road to Dr. Braginski's property took him through a huge forest, which looked absolutely spectacular as it was beginning to color itself in the golden shades of the approaching fall. Dr. Braginski had been his favorite teacher back at the university and by far the best psychologist he had ever met. They had been friends ever since, but still Francis had to admit that the Russian was a rather strange fellow. Original, some would say, he thought as he drove on. Indeed, one had to be quite original to buy a worthless property near a swamp, in the middle of nowhere, just for the sake of keeping a water plant greenhouse.

Dr. Braginski was waiting for him on the porch of an old wooden cottage, smoking his usual cigar. Also as usual, he looked completely out of place in the whole landscape.

"Francis! How long has it been since our last _rencontre_ ?" Ivan Braginski said patting the young man on the back as he showed him into the small living.

"Too long, sir, too long," Francis replied patting him back. He had a sudden feeling that Ivan Braginski was the man who had the answer to all his problems.

Coming from the outside heat, the younger man was welcomed by a pleasant coolness inside the cottage. The plain look of the small wooden house was not at all Dr. Braginski's style, at least from the outside, but as expected, it was compensated by the interior, which was everything but minimal. The decorations of the living room were a bizarre mixture of paintings, wooden sculptures and old crippled furniture. The Frenchman moved around, examining every object from close, while Dr. Braginski watched him from the doorframe.

"Pretty impressive, da?" he said at last softly puffing his cigar.

"Yes, it's… I believe it's quite a collection here." Francis turned to face him. "Though I'm not sure what the theme is…"

"Well, this 'collection' is indeed very special," the Russian admitted. "But believe it or not, I just bought it together with the house and the rest of the property. The former owners just sold it and never came to pick up any of the stuff in here, da."

"What… all these paintings? I doubt they are worthless…."

To his surprise, his former teacher waved his hand dismissively. "Well, I don't know about that, they never preoccupied me beyond their sheer beauty and of course, their meaning, da," Dr. Braginski explained with a smile. "In fact, it was the former owner who made all this. It's all about one myth which seems to have obsessed him, the swamp witches."

"Swamp witches… never heard of that before," Francis said drawing closer to one of the paintings. It represented a young woman of surreal beauty in a water-green robe, gathering herbs in a basket, in a typical swamp landscape.

"Neither had I before buying this place. Here I found out everything about it," Dr. Braginski said taking out a book from the shelf and holding it up. "He even had books about this myth. Here, this one gives quite a detailed description of the facts. It seems that long ago there were three villages in the swamp area, but the houses were abandoned in time. Only this one and another closer to the lake remained - they're both on my property now, da. The book says that people in these villages believed in the existence of the swamp witches, who possessed the power to bring them both happiness and misfortune. They were worshipped like goddesses and sacrifices were made to them to win their favor. And you know what's most fascinating? The whole thing happened no earlier that the 19th century, which is incredible. There was not a single Christian church in these villages!"

Well, sure thing, Ivan Braginski was the man to always stumble onto bizarre stuff.

"You mean they were heathens, and they performed religious rituals for these witches? That is strange indeed!"

"Yes, well only human sacrifices, da. Very interesting… A procession was made at midnight and the victims were taken deep into the swamp, where they were tied up to a tree and blindfolded. They were simply left there, but they were never found again. Not a trace… " Dr. Braginski explained dragging another smoke. "The victims were young people, men and women alike. Never children, though. Almost every family had to make such a sacrifice at some point in their lives, apparently some sort of priest made the final choice each year, at the end of the summer or beginning of fall. About this time of year, da."

"Quite scary, I'll say," Francis replied with a wry smile, suddenly fighting a disturbing feeling in his gut.

The teacher appeared thoughtful, but otherwise unfazed. "Hmm, it's just a story, I tend to believe. An actual description or more details related to these witches cannot be found anywhere in these books. I find that unusual since every religion has some sort of depiction of their object of worship, da. The gods are always portrayed, one way or the other."

"But what about all these sculptures and paintings? They all have the same subject, these women, gathering herbs or taming water snakes. These must be the witches. Where's all this coming from?"

Braginski smiled lightly."Oh, there's nothing genuine in that, the sculptures were also made by the painter, da. He was definitely very talented, but all this is entirely the product of his imagination. The scary thing is, in my opinion, that he really believed all this nonsense. He was so much into it that he decided to offer himself to the witches. He sent a letter to his ex wife announcing his decision. They never found him, so my guess is that he probably drowned somewhere. But enough of this absurd story now. Let me show you the reason I bought this place, apart from the obvious freakiness of it all, da," the Russian laughed, puffing away his last smoke.

The tall ashen blond took his former student to the back yard where the greenhouse was located - a huge basin covered with a glass cupola. The access inside was made through one small door, which lead to a narrow cobblestoned path all around the basin. Different varieties of water lilies covered the water surface, in an enchanting mix of colors.

"I've been told the basin was inspired by a Claude Monet water lilies painting, da," Dr. Braginski commented as he showed Francis around. "As soon as I saw it, I just knew I had to have it".

* * *

The dinner had been simple and relaxing. Dr. Braginski had been as usual a perfect host. Afterwards they had sat on the porch and brought back memories over a glass of vodka. But now, as Francis lay in bed, he couldn't quite name to himself the reason why he had been unable to open up to his old friend and mentor. Why he couldn't speak up his mind, ask for an advice. Of course, he knew what Dr. Braginski's advice would be - that he should dump Matthew once and for all. He did not believe much in love and surely disapproved of this kind of obsessive thoughts. The Frenchman knew that he was alone in this and to solve this problem was his task and no one else's. As he lay with his eyes closed, the story of the painter came back in his mind - that man must have had pretty serious problems. He had lived there all alone, away from his family, in the middle of nowhere. As Dr. Braginski had said, more or less as a joke, this place was creepy as hell. The painter must have suffered a breakdown and taken refuge in this place and this… fantasy.

_Breakdown. It happens to a lot of people. Many are on the edge. Alfred is on the edge… He said it himself… _With these thoughts he finally drifted off to sleep.

_**To be continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

A/N – I know. After reading this, you will ask yourselves 'what the actual FUCK did I just read?. Yeah, admittedly this is by far the creepiest, weirdest and most absurd crap I've ever written and now adapted, so why the hell am I bothering with it regardless? Who knows, mostly because I hate leaving things unfinished and besides, why miss the opportunity to leave you folks baffled? Ha.

* * *

"Oh, Francis, you're terrible! When we said we all needed a couple of days to relax, I'm sure none of us thought of a trip to a swamp in the middle of nowhere and some old country house…" Matthew complained from the back of the van.

"Come on, Dr. Braginski's property is beautiful, especially this time of year. Nature is a great place to relax, to put order in your thoughts. There are other things in this world besides shopping malls, you know?" Francis replied, shaking his head and mentally noting how horribly shallow his lover could be sometimes. "Isn't it, Alfred?"

"Definitely, man," the bespectacled blond answered as he scribbled down some lyrics on a notebook he had on his lap.

"What do you guys think?" Francis turned to his cousin Lovino and his friend Antonio. But the two sat silently, cuddled up in the back of the van next to Matthew. "Love birds," he teased, turning his attention back to the road.

Francis had arranged for them to stay over the weekend at the lake cabin, not far from Dr. Braginski's house. It was a simple place, a 19th century wooden house which the former owners had restored and arranged as a guest house for the summer time. As his former teacher had told him, this had been before the painter had chosen to isolate himself from his family and live here permanently, so there wasn't much comfort to it, nor had any cleanup been done in quite some time. But Francis thought the place was great. In fact, as far as his plan was concerned, perfect.

They arrived to the place at noon, and Lovino and Matthew started to fix them some comfort for the night, helped by Alfred. The young doctor however was more interested in exploring the house, as he had only had a quick view of it the time Dr. Braginski had showed it to him. The place had a rather large basement and in he descended with a flashlight, followed by a curious Antonio.

"Man, this place is ancient..." the olive-skinned young man commented. "Look at all the stuff lying around down here - wooden wheels, a horse harness, geez! Are you sure this place isn't haunted or anything?"

But Francis's attention had been caught by a set of thick ropes piled up in one corner. "Well… what if it was?" he said fingering the ropes and checking their resistance.

"_Mi amigo_, I know you like pranks. Are you trying to scare us or some shit? Is that why you brought us here?" Antonio asked suspiciously.

But the Frenchman only laughed, shaking his head. "Not you, that's for sure. I wouldn't need to bring you here to scare the shit out of _you_. I have a quite different plan."

"Oh… so what do you have in mind?" his friend wanted to know, drawing closer with a wicked smile.

"_Mon ami_, I'm only trusting you with this because I know that you tend to enjoy this as much as I do. Weird pranks, I mean," he blond whispered mysteriously.

"Let me guess then," Antonio replied in a low voice. "If I'm not extremely wrong, I dare say Alfred is your next victim?"

"Clever boy," Francis smiled patting him on the back as he lifted the pile of ropes. No wonder they – together with their friend Gilbert - were called the Bad Touch Trio.

"But what do you want to do with those, man?"

"To keep it short, there used to be a legend in these places about some terrible witches living in this swamp. Human sacrifices were made to them and the ones chosen were taken into the swamp, tied to a tree and left there. And the witches came and took them away… Dr. Braginski has some books about it. Anyway, that's what we're going to do. Take him to the swamp and leave him there for the night."

Antonio scratched the back of his head, looking confused. "Um… and how are we to do this? How do you think we can take him there and tie him up?"

"Well _mon ami_, a plan involves planning. I took care of this little matter," Francis said, producing a small pill box out of his pocket. "This should be enough to make him dizzy enough for a little while, after which he will wake up there…"

"But… what are we going to tell Lovi and Mattie?"

"I'll talk to Matthieu, explain to him. Not in very much detail, obviously. And Lovino doesn't have to know until morning. You know how sensitive he is."

* * *

"The dinner was great! It's amazing how much you can do with so little if you are creative," Alfred said rising to get himself another beer.

"I'm glad you liked it, baby," Matthew smiled, giving a quick squeeze to his hand.

"So, I hope tomorrow morning we're going to see the famous water plant greenhouse of Dr. Braginski," Lovino said as he also stood to pick up the plates.

"Oh yes, definitely! It's absolutely beautiful, it has about seven different varieties of water lilies, from pink to light blue. And it's open, Dr. Braginski doesn't keep it locked."

"Sounds like you were pretty impressed," Alfred said as he returned.

"Indeed, _mon ami_," Francis confirmed. "And the house, that was even more interesting, too bad the doctor isn't here now. It belonged to a painter, in fact the whole property did. You should see the stuff this man had made, very weird!"

"Weird?"

"Yes. He was obsessed with a local myth - of swamp witches - and he made a bunch of sculptures and paintings related to that, on top of the vast collection of books he had about it," the other blond explained. "Back in the 19th century there were three villages around here in the swamp area, but the houses are now abandoned - only this one and the doctor's remained. The people in these villages were pagans and believed in the existence of swamp witches, who were some sort of goddesses who decided their fate. They worshipped them and made human sacrifices to win their favor."

"Human sacrifices? Come on, man…" Alfred smiled in disbelief.

"No, really, they did. Young people, both boys and girls. Not children, though. From each and every family and apparently they did it every year, at the beginning of fall. About this time of year…" Francis smiled, a mysterious smirk lingering on his lips as he paused to assess the others' reaction.

"What did they do to them? Just spilled their blood?" Lovino asked.

"Nothing of the kind, actually. They took them to the swamp at midnight, tied them to a tree and left them there. In the morning they were gone. The witches took them away…"he ended in a whisper.

"Yeah right," the American replied ironically.

"It's serious actually, _mon ami_. The painter believed the whole of it and he even offered himself to the witches. He went into the swamp woods one night and never showed up again!" the young doctor said, watching him intently all the sudden.

"What stupidities! Can't believe you brought us here to tell us this shit! And I'm so tired!" Matthew complained, heading to the door.

"Well guys, we're gonna go to bed now," Lovino said standing up too. "Have fun on your own and try not to drink all the whiskey."

"My caring little cousin," Francis said after Lovino had closed the door behind him. He picked a full bottle from his backpack and three glasses. With his back turned on his friends, the Frenchman quickly fixed the drinks and then handed them over.

"_Mi amigo_, your story is scary," Antonio commented taking a long sip from his glass.

"I'd say. I guess that's what you doctors call an interesting case," Alfred added.

"Hmm?"

"The painter. He was cracked, wasn't he? That's why he killed himself or whatever he did."

Francis seemed thoughtful as he spun the amber-colored liquid in his glass."I'd rather say that he was a worshipper. And he was rewarded for his faith too. The witches took him."

"No doubt," the bespectacled blond laughed, finishing his glass and rising to pour himself another.

Soon he began to feel weird, in a way he had never experienced before. The room was spinning around him faster and faster. His body went numb and he fell back on the couch, unable to move or speak, seeing and hearing everything around him as if in a dream. His eyelids were incredibly heavy, but before closing his eyes, he saw Francis whispering something in Antonio's ear. Just when he thought his body was going to somehow melt and become one with the couch, Alfred felt himself lifted up and carried out of the room. But instead of the softness of the bed, he was surprised to feel the cool night air. This was a dream, it had to be. Suddenly, he felt himself lifted to a vertical position and his feet sunken in knee-deep, ice cold water. The sharp sensation made the blond slowly open his eyes, just as Antonio propped him to a huge tree. He saw Francis unwrapping a pile of thick ropes and in the next moment he felt them around him, squeezing harder and harder, over his chest and stomach. This had to be one of those nightmares. But it was far from over, Francis pulled out a piece of cloth from his pocket and blindfolded him. Then, the darkness overtook Alfred entirely and he lost his consciousness.

* * *

_The heart's unheard clock strikes midnight_

_The ancient ones creep back beneath the poisoned waters_

_We gather secretly under the full moon's light_

_And wordlessly we pray to our long lost fathers_

"It's midnight. We should get going. I'll arrange the rhunes," Azelbe said, nervously rubbing her crooked nose.

"Yes, sister, we should I suppose. Go wake Arthur up," Aziade replied. "He has to go with us this time."

Azelbe fumbled with the small pieces of stone in the wooden rhunes bowl in front of her. "Aziade, as you are my older sister it's my duty to obey you in everything. You know I've always done that… But if Arthur comes with us tonight, it would be his first prayer to the fathers. The law says that he is entitled to ask them something. Now I beg you, think of it!"

"Nonsense! Arthur is blood from our blood. And it was his decision to join us here, in serving the _fathers_, he is devoted," Aziade replied sharply.

"I have never questioned his devotion. But he's… We are in our one hundreds while he is still in his teens. Why did we choose him – a boy on top of everything - from all the swamp witches who live around here? He's very young. Still wild…"Azelbe tried with her head bowed.

"Wild… but besides the fathers, we worship nature. Nature _is_ wild. You fear what he might ask them for? I do not have such fears. Our fathers were all powerful, feared, obeyed. And wicked. Men have always bowed in fear before them, dreaded them. We, their heirs, have dwindled into shadow, into nothingness. No mortal soul knows of us, except some very few. You fear Arthur might not be evil enough?" Aziade turned her back on her sister and headed to the stair which led to the top of the stone tower.

Shortly, Arthur descended carrying his own box of rhunes. Azelbe eyed him critically, without saying a word – the boy looked so harmless and innocent and he was always a good child. Hard to believe he was ever going to become the evil, all powerful wizard Aziade hoped for. He looked rather fragile in the ceremonial night-sky blue cloak which contrasted with his pale skin and golden-blond hair. Aziade soon joined them in the small courtyard and they headed for the woods.

The altar of the _fathers_ was a large rectangular piece of stone covered in symbols, placed in the middle of a circle of ancient trees. Their roots reached under the shallow water and embraced the base of the altar. The three stepped carefully among them and placed their rhune boxes on it.

"My child, it's your turn tonight," Aziade whispered in Arthur's ear.

The green-eyed boy closed his eyes, while his fingers started to arrange the rhunes on the altar, each in its carved location, in a design of perfect symmetry. As soon as he was done, they all kneeled in the pitch black water, bowing their heads in expectance. All around them the swamp was alive. Clear, yet indefinite sounds filled the air. One by one, the rhunes lit, burning blue and green flames which danced intertwined. Aziade rose and placed her open palms above them:

"_Long lost fathers of ours_

_Who breathe in the wind_

_Who bring life as the first ray of sun_

_Who bring death as the unfolding of darkness_

_Whose wicked hearts beat in our chests_

_Whose cold blood runs through our veins_

_To you we pray tonight_

_We your humble servants"_

"It's time for you to make a claim, child. Ask the spirits whatever you want in exchange for your offering" Azelbe told Arthur in low voice gazing at her sister which stood motionless.

Arthur took a small knife out of his box and held it above his palm. "Our all powerful fathers, bless us with your gift tonight…" he began, then suddenly turned towards his aunt Aziade in confusion.

"Child, what do you want? Just tell me if you do not dare speak to _them._"

"I want, uh, to see someone who… who is not like us, someone different. A common mortal. In flesh and blood."

"What stupid things you are saying. Different! Miserable creatures they are… Anyway, let me phrase it," Aziade replied with a look of discontent upon her figure. With that she turned to the altar and Arthur let a few drops of his blood fall into the nearest flame.

"Our all powerful fathers, bless us with your gift tonight! Let us spread your sacred venom once more upon a mortal! Bring us a victim!" Aziade spoke loudly, her words echoing strangely in the wind.

Azelbe flinched at the sound. She had said it, what they all have been craving for. She herself had always asked for the deepening of their powers and knowledge, but never had she so daringly asked for something for herself. In ancient times witches like them did not have to ask for human victims. They just got them as a worship token. Aziade placed an arm around Arthur's shoulders, as the flame was slowly changing its color from green to yellow and then slightly reddish.

"The fathers will grant your wish tonight, it seems," she whispered, as she started to collect the rhunes spread on the altar and placed them back in their boxes.

"Aziade, why did you ask for a _victim_? What are we going to do with him or her?" Will we kill them?" Arthur asked curiously, picking up his box.

"Witches of the old always received such 'gifts' from mortals. One of them. They usually enslaved them for the rest of their days, since their flesh seldom is any good. And the other mortals thought they were dead. It looked like they had died, so that the ones close to them would lose all hope. It was their tribute of suffering paid to us," Aziade explained with an evil grin. "But it's up to you what you shall do with your victim," she went on.

"But still, my child, the venom must be spread," Azelbe cut in. "Otherwise the fathers will be mad, don't forget!"

With that the two old women headed back to their stone tower, leaving Arthur alone.

* * *

Alfred was starting to slowly come back to his senses. But the evil dream had not gone away, now it was as real as it could be. The bonds held him so tightly to the tree bark that he couldn't move a single muscle. The darkness of the blindfold made the sounds of the surrounding forest even sharper and the chill air deepened the creeps he felt all over his skin and deep into his very flesh. The water around his feet was ice cold. For how long he remained this way, he couldn't tell. It felt like long hours of endless terror which he could not explain to himself. After all, not even a child would believe there was something there.

Arthur stood only inches from him, watching him in silence. In the back of his mind, the wizard had doubted that the fathers would fulfill his wish. But here he was, real as could be, a common mortal in flesh and blood. The green-eyed blond stepped closer, drawn by the unusual warmth of the other's body. He seemed so fragile.

His hand reached out to the ropes, close, not yet daring to touch him, making Alfred wince visibly, moved up and gently removed the blindfold, causing the taller blond to blink quickly and squint.

"Who are you?" the wizard asked in a soft voice, eyeing him curiously in turn.

He tried to answer, but his mind was blank and his lips refused to move. The strange boy moved to his side to undo the bonds and propped his shoulder as he stumbled when they fell down.

"Uh… I'm Alfred…" he finally managed to say.

"I am Arthur," the other replied with a quick smile. "What are you doing here? Are you alright? What happened to you?"

"I… uh… Damn! I'm not sure…" the taller blond answered rubbing his forehead and bothered by his bad eyesight. "I guess some friends of mine played a prank on me. Guess they tried to scare me…"

"Weird prank," Arthur observed, looking straight into his eyes. "I thought it was a sacrifice."

Alfred looked at him quizzically, but the boy's face was perfectly serious and for a moment he completely freaked out. Upon reading his terror, the wizard's features softened somewhat.

"Just joking, goodness… Anyway, good thing I found you, then."

"Do you…. live around here?" Alfred asked somewhat suspiciously, observing the green-eyed boy's unusual outfit.

"Yeah. Actually my aunts' house is a bit further in the woods, but I was just enjoying a midnight walk."

"But… aren't you afraid? This is no place to walk alone at night!"

"Not really, no." The other smiled again fixing him with an unreadable expression in his peridot eyes.

"Well, then…" the American said, involuntarily taking a step back. It was rather awkward having a conversation while in knee-deep cold water, in a damned swamp, in the middle of the night.

"I think you should go back now," the smaller blond said at last, pointing to the house.

Alfred nodded curtly, but then the weirdest thing happened. "I don't wanna go back," he heard himself say. _I must be dreaming again. It's a dream! It's a dream!_

"What do you want then?"

"I want to be yours. Yours alone." His head dropped oddly, tiredly, in a sort of bizarre resignation.

"Then you shall be."

Arthur reached up slowly, his arm going around his neck and Alfred closed his eyes. This was not real. It was a sick vision taking over him, to the point he wasn't himself anymore. _The venom of the fathers must be spread. _The wizard removed the pin holding his cloak and thrust it into the back of his neck.

* * *

Matthew woke up startled by the alarm of his cell phone. It was barely seven in the morning, but he slowly got off the bed and headed downstairs to make some coffee. Oh, his boyfriend was going to be really pissed after this 'joke' Francis and Antonio had done to him, they had positively gone too far. Francis had gone too far and he knew why. The Canadian was all the sudden overwhelmed by an unexplained fear and rushed to Francis's room, shaking the doctor awake.

"Francis, you must wake up! Now!"

"Mmmm, come on…"he moaned. "What time is it?"

"It doesn't matter! We have to go after him. I have a bad feeling about all this!" The smaller blond was almost shouting.

"What's going on?" Lovino asked, stepping out in the corridor. "What's wrong?"

"He and Antonio played a prank on Alfred last night. They took him in the swamp. Now we have to go!" Matthew explained in a hurry as he nearly dragged Francis to the front door.

"A prank? Wait! What kind of prank? What do you mean you took him in the swamp?" Lovino grabbed his cousin's arm but Matthew pushed him outside. Antonio soon followed, still half asleep.

In the morning fog, they carefully approached the tree where the young doctor and his friend had tied the American up the night before. Pieces of rope and the blindfold were floating ripped apart on the water surface. The tree bark was scratched as by a giant claw and stained with fresh blood, glittering in the faint light.

Matthew let out a loud scream and stumbled back, clinging to Francis' arm.

"What the hell, man?! Where is he, man? What, what the fuck is this?!" yelled Antonio in shock, while Lovino pressed his palm over his mouth.

"We've got to find him! Do you hear me? We've got find him!" Matthew cried in despair.

_**To be continued**_

A/N – Oh God. Worst thing ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

A/N – Dear all, I must confess that I am surprised by all the attention this creepy tale is getting. Anyway, I'm glad you people enjoy it, so here's the last chapter! ;)

_Warning: character death_

* * *

It had been almost a month now from that day, but Matthew remembered it as it had been yesterday. They'd never found him, not a single trace, like he had vanished into thin air. Sure thing, the swamp was deep, hard to search… Francis had not told to the police the whole truth about the 'prank'. More precisely, he had told them Alfred had agreed to the whole thing. And they had believed him. On top of it all, he realized that Francis had changed, to the point that he didn't know him anymore. They had always had their differences, but his lover was a good man, never capable of such a thing. The more Matthew thought of it, the less it appeared to him as an innocent prank and more as a carefully planned scheme. Francis refused to speak of it, he constantly avoided the subject, which only made him more suspicious. He'd never thought that Francis' jealousy would take such a turn. Never.

And now he was all alone in the apartment he and Alfred had shared. All Alfred's things were here, in more or less of a mess, his favorite guitar in one corner, everything just as he had left them, _as if he had never left_… The Canadian felt so helpless now, so unfair of them, who were supposed to be his friends, to leave him here all alone with his disappeared boyfriend's stuff, like he was still here.

The thought of Alfred lying somewhere, in that dark, muddy water sent shudders along his spine and his brow covered in cold sweat. The image of the ripped tree bark was ever present before his eyes. What terrible fate had they put him to? He was dead, that was for sure. There was no doubt about it - the blood, _his blood_, left no doubt. No hope. He, them, had caused his death, he and Francis. _Murderer!_ whispered a voice in the back of his head, digging deep into his brain. It was his fault. He was guilty. The ringing of his cell phone momentarily brought the young man back from his thoughts.

"_Mon cher_, what's going on? Why didn't you answer earlier? I called two times," he heard Francis's voice at the other end of the line, somehow impatient.

"I just, you know, I've been thinking…"

"Oh? What have you been thinking of?"

"It's not… it's not fair, it just isn't. What's going on. And you've changed. You weren't like that, Francis," the Canadian said pressing a hand on his brow.

"What do you mean it's not fair? And I've changed? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His voice was harsh and now Matthiew knew he was mad.

"You just… don't care about me anymore, now that I'm all yours and… You left me here alone with all Alfred's stuff!" the smaller blond shouted.

There was a pause. Then Francis's voice came in a much cooler tone. "Matthieu, listen to me, very carefully now. Alfred is dead, he's not coming back. You have no reason to be afraid or anything. I'll call his cousin next week and tell him to come pick up his stuff. Don't worry about it,_ oui mon cher_?"

"How do you know he's dead? They never found him," his lover whispered in reply.

"_Amour_, if he wasn't dead he would have returned, or let us know where he is, or we would have found out something about him, don't you think?"

"You seem so sure he's dead, when we didn't even find out what actually happened to him!"

"Matthew, you saw yourself…"

"And you lied to the police too! It was you, your idea, you did this to him! You…" but the younger stopped right before saying it.

"I what? I killed him? Is that what you were about to say? That I killed him?!" the Frenchman shouted back.

"No, I just think…"

"And since when do you fucking care about him so much?! Now you miss him or what? _I_ don't fucking understand you anymore!"

"Francis, I just feel…" he whispered but the doctor had already hung up.

* * *

Alfred felt like he was waking up from a deathlike sleep. His body bore an unexplained fatigue and numbness, yet somehow his senses were sharper than ever. He was rediscovering the world all over again through them, though his eyes were closed. It was like his eyes could somehow perceive the bright sunlight and he could hear all the sounds, some near and clear, others distant and vague. He gathered all his strength to lift his eyelids and discover where he was.

Suddenly darkness and silence struck him alike and he winced in dismay. He was lying in an old wooden bed, in a small stone room with only one window. He was frozen to the bone. Two old women were standing on each side of the bed, staring at him inquisitively, their countenance showing an increasing disgust as they visually examined him from head to toe, yet they did not say a word. To Alfred, their appearance was positively horrifying. Their features were gruesome and their long arms covered in dry skin ended with long curved claws. They wore weird robes of indefinite color and their long grey hair was tied in countless knots.

Suddenly, Arthur appeared out of nowhere and leaned over him, with a playful smile.

"What… what happened?" the bespectacled blond asked in a low voice.

"Not much… Your wish came true, that's all."

"My wish?" Then he remembered saying it. The back of his neck burned and he pressed his hand over the aching spot. The old women headed to the door whispering inaudibly and they closed it behind them.

"You need some rest now," the green-eyed boy said softly, pressing a cold hand on his forehead, making his prey fall back to sleep almost instantly.

* * *

Alfred was awake again, but his state had improved only slightly. He was still somehow dizzy, but now the night's events were coming back to him with surprising clarity - the talk with Francis and Antonio, being taken to the swamp and tied up to the tree. Nothing made any sense whatsoever. And where was he now and who was this strange boy?! The next thing he realized was that Arthur was sitting on the side of the bed, looking down at him with an unreadable expression. The other blond quickly sat up and moved a bit away from him, wincing when the wizard's cold hand cupped his face gently.

"I know you are confused now, but it will all go away, do not be afraid."

"What?! Where am I? And what do you mean? What will go away?" Alfred muttered, struggling to find his words.

"The memories of your… human life," Arthur replied, still caressing his cheek and drawing closer.

"No, no, wait! This is not… I cannot do this!"

"Why not? You no longer belong to that world," the boy whispered as his pale, thin fingers now drew small circles on the other's jaw line.

"What do you mean?! No! I have… There is a man I love! I do! Matthew!" Alfred screamed, but his voice seemed to fade with every word he spoke. "I will stay true to him…" he added bowing his head.

The wizard stood up and looked down at him, frowning all the sudden. "I think you haven't seen the sun in a while. It is time to do so."

He grabbed the bespectacled blond's hand and led him out of the room, on the stone terrace. The afternoon sun blinded Alfred and he instinctively shielded his eyes. They walked up to the left end of the terrace, which was sunken in shadow and stopped in front of a large stone bowl. It was filled with clear water and various colorful pebbles lay scattered on the bottom.

"What is this?"

Arthur dipped his hand in the bowl and ran his long fingers through the pebbles, scattering them even more."Rhunes. You have some questions and now they shall be answered. Just call me when it's over," he explained pointing briefly to the bowl and left the taller blond alone.

Alfred leaned over the bowl's edge and touched the water with his fingertips. It slowly began to change its color, growing a darker and darker shade of green. _Mattie… _he whispered inwardly, suddenly wondering where his lover was now. Was he searching for him? Just as he thought it, the water surface changed and took the appearance of a mirror. For a brief moment he could see his own face, but then the image changed completely. He could recognize Francis' place, his bedroom. Francis was lying in bed, with a wild expression of fury all over his features. Alfred had never seen him like this. The image puzzled him and he took a step back. The sight of Matthew entering the room made him quickly approach the bowl again and lean even more over the edge.

_He needs some fucking pills! Cause he can't sleep… _Francis said as Matthew climbed in bed next to him. Alfred gripped the edge of the bowl and squeezed until his knuckles went white.

_What if I want his money?_ _You know I don't care about him!_

The words struck him with bruising violence and the pain gathered in his throat, choking him.

Now Matthew was in his room, wrapping his arms around his neck, kissing him.

_I just felt I couldn't stay any minute longer away from you!_

He felt the touch painfully on his skin and closed his eyes, crushing his tears under the eyelids.

_What have you done to me?_

These tears were poisonous. Alfred quickly wiped his cheek with the back of his trembling hand.

_Why am I here?_

Francis sat on a wooden bed, in a room resembling to the ones in the house they were in last night.

_Breakdown_._ It happens to a lot of people. Many are on the edge. Alfred is on the edge… He said it himself… _The doctor muttered to himself, while an inhuman smile blossomed on his lips.

Alfred's hands went to his temples, squeezing hard, wishing he could look away, but somehow his eyes were stuck on the cursed mirror.

_That's what we're gonna do. Take him to the swamp and leave him there for the night… _Francis was telling Antonio, as he now fingered a thick pile of ropes.

The nightmare was coming back and Alfred couldn't handle it anymore. He crouched down on the stone floor, with his back turned on the bowl, but the voice still made its way to his ears.

_A plan involves planning. I took care of this little matter. This should be enough to make him dizzy enough for a little while, after which he will wake up there…_

The words echoed in his mind long after they were gone. He sat there motionless, hugging his knees, with his eyes closed, while bitter tears burned his cheeks.

At last he lifted his head and saw Arthur crouched in front of him. The wizard's deep green eyes watched him with curiosity and he reached out, collecting one teardrop from Alfred's cheekbone on his fingertip. He examined it in concentration for a moment, before wiping it away on his trousers.

"Is it over?" the boy wanted to know, helping him up at last.

"This is… I don't even know you, Arthur," the other blond said, turning his head to the side.

"Oh, but you do know me, Alfred. We met a long, long time ago, and ever since I have always been there… and you have always felt me, and all the spirits of the swamp. Is that not so?"

The green-eyed blond smiled and his fingertips caressed the other's cheek ever so gently, travelling down to his neck before he reached up and placed his lips on his. Arthur's mouth had the addictive taste of all forbidden, cursed love, that which is eternal but never quite present, never real enough to grasp. Alfred would pray, but his mind had gone blank, he would beg for mercy but he was at a loss for words. At length, the wizard pulled away and concentrated on the bowl of rhunes, lightly touching the water and making it freeze into a perfectly smooth surface.

"Alfred, I _will have you_. And in return, you can ask whatever you want of me."

The other young man drew back in dismay as he remember all the nightmares he'd ever had, every moment he'd been afraid ever since that day in his childhood and the cold he felt within deepened. It was pointless to oppose whatever venom it was that was taking over him.

"I want you to show me what it's like."

"What what is like, exactly?"Arthur asked somewhat suspiciously, looking up from the bowl.

"To be like you."

* * *

At last Matthew woke up from his febrile sleep. Outside was a cloudy day - a sick, filthy light was pouring through the windows, leaving no place to hide. A pronounced sensation of emptiness had started in his chest and now was spreading throughout his entire body, drying the blood and shriveling the flesh. As he was sitting curled up on the floor, next to the bed, he turned around quickly at the sound of a strong rain hitting the window. Big, liquid drops splashing, sliding quickly on the glass and gathering on the window sill. Looking closer, he was aware of the tiny particles of dust that the rain drops carried. The water on the window sill had something in it - _mud._ It was _filthy. _The Canadian drew back as it began to slip under the wooden frame and into the room, closer and closer to him. It slid incredibly fast, now it was already on the floor, making its way towards his bare feet.

He had desperately climbed up onto the bed, when he heard the front door opening. Pointlessly he shook his head, but the sounds would not go away. Steps were drawing closer and he waited in terror to see the door knob moving.

It opened with no sound and Alfred passed by him, walking up to open the wardrobe near the bed. He started gathering his stuff in no hurry and put them in his old backpack, while his lover watched him in a trance like state. His movements had something surreal and everything else seemed to have disappeared around them.

"Alfred? Is it you? Is it really you? You're back…" the smaller blond whispered, as tears began to slide down his pale cheeks.

His boyfriend took his time, then eventually closed the backpack and slowly walked back to him. At the sight of the look in his eyes, Matthew involuntarily drew back, crouching at the far end of the bed. Alfred's hand was cold and the other tried to escape his touch, but his eyes had remained captured by that deep gaze, which had nothing human in it any longer.

"Do you love me, Mattie?"

His voice seemed to come from a distant dream, yet it was dreadfully present.

Fearful, helpless tears welled up in the smaller blond' eyes. "Yes! Yes, Alfred, I love you! I do love you, you know how much I love you!" he cried as he gripped his boyfriend's hand, trying to remove it from his face.

"Yes… I know _how much_ you love me. And that's why I trust you shall do the right thing, my love…"

The words stung like needles deep in Matthew's brain as he felt the other's fingers digging into his flesh. He closed her eyes for a moment and when he reopened them, Alfred was gone. So was the rain, the water on the floor and the horrible feeling in her gut. They were all gone. He was sighing in relief when he noticed a small unknown bottle on the nightstand. It contained a strange liquid, which seemed to permanently change its color. His hand clenched around it against his will and for a few seconds the young man hopelessly struggled with his own thoughts. Then, his mind went blank and he slipped the bottle into his pocket.

* * *

The Frenchman was already a bit worked up as he parked the car outside Matthew's block. Why the hell did he act this way all of the sudden? He knew that Francis couldn't take him to live with him right now, all their friends would get suspicious. He kept replaying the smaller blond's words in his mind over and over again - was he really accusing him of what had happened? It was true that he'd had vile intentions, but he was no murderer. He had not wished this to happen, never, he had just wanted back what was his. Anyway, Francis knew that being hard on Matthew would not do any good.

"Matthieu? Where are you?" he called in a soft voice peeking around. He found his lover in the living room, crouched on the couch. "Are you alright,_ mon cher_? Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you the other day, I promise it won't happen again, okay?"

The other stared blankly at him for a moment and then lowered his gaze to his feet, but remained oddly silent.

"Look, I really don't understand what you are acting like this right now. Do you really think I did anything on purpose to hurt Alfred?" He tilted Matthew's chin up as he spoke. "After knowing me all these years you think I am capable to kill someone?!"

But the other still didn't answer, instead staring blankly at the wall. The doctor was beginning to lose his temper and walked to the bar to pour some whiskey. His lover looked up at him and suddenly jumped from the couch, gripping the hand with which he held the glass.

"No, no, don't! You mustn't, no!" the Canadian yelled trying to get it from his hand. Startled, Francis laid it on the table.

"What…?"

"Francis, listen to me!" he hurried to say cupping his face with both his hands. "Listen to me! Alfred… Alfred was here! He was here today, he… he was here and, and…"

"Matthieu, calm down, calm down alright? You're not feeling well!" the taller blond shouted, grabbing his arms. "You must calm down! No one was here, _oui_? It's all in your mind, it's not real!"

"Yes it was, he was here, he picked up his stuff! Francis, you have to believe me, his things are gone, you can… you can go check if you want!"

"No no, you listen to me! I don't want to check anything, this is insane!" The Frenchman took the glass from the table and was going to drink when his lover snatched it out of his hand and slid its contents down his own throat.

"I had to do this… You must know, I tried to tell you…" he whispered, collapsing into his arms.

"Matthieu?! Matthieu, what's wrong?!" the doctor yelled.

"He knows, Francis…"

"What? MATTHIEU!"

But the younger went limp and his eyes closed. Francis let the body drop to the floor and looked around wildly. "This is not happening!" he screamed, hands desperately gripping his disheveled strands of hair.

"You are on the edge and will have a breakdown, I guess…"

* * *

It was sometimes pleasant to spend a Saturday evening far from the world, with a fine book and a glass of vodka, Dr. Braginski thought as he enjoyed his cigar at the window of his swamp house. It was so quiet here. However, the pile of exam papers waiting on the table caught his eye and he turned from the window, mumbling.

The sound of a car coming his way caught his attention and the Russian returned to the window, curious. Then he saw his former student Francis alone in his car, heading straight for the swamp and could not believe his eyes. He stormed out of the house calling him, but only a moment later the car vanished from his sight, as if it had never existed.

A week later, Dr. Braginski sold his property.

**THE END. **


End file.
